V Line to the past
by imshananay
Summary: Will gets grindr and begins to enjoy his sex life. But what happens when he opens the door to a blast from the past.


Hey guys it's been so long but I'm finally getting back into writing fanfiction. I've kept looking at my previous stories from time to time and it warms my heart to see people still come back to and enjoy my previous stories. Please leave a review and let me know what you think of my writing. I really appreciate your criticism. And let me know if you think I should continue this story.

Only a dim lamp lit the apartment as Will Truman sat on his suede couch and stared at his phone. He scrolled through the grid of faceless, muscular torsos that through his mind into an endless stream of desires and memories.

"Where was this 10 years ago?"

Every night after work, Will would drop his suitcase, shoes and clothes, stretch in his glorious nakedness, pour himself a large glass of white and recline on the couch. After a quick, aggressive wank (inspired by the night) Will would retrieve his phone from his pocket and log onto his favourite app and search for his dinner. Ever since Grace moved out, Will had his own personal Mardi Gras parade that circled around his bedroom:

Twinks, leather daddies, otters, bears, cubs, straight, gay, bi, curious or just open for anything.

All of them came to his lavish New York apartment, partook in the obligatory glass of chardonnay or bud light, make their way to the bedroom, or bathroom, or couch, or kitchen table, or floor, or hallway; and get ravaged by the well hung corporate lawyer with too much love on his hands.

And then they would leave.

To them Will was just a sex robot, whose mission was to fuck and be fucked in as many compromising and creative positions as possible. Any fetish, Will was up for:

BDSM- the grandmaster

Public sex- in the middle of church

Bondage- nooses included

Water sports- only in the bathroom

But Will wanted more than that. As he rummaged through the six packs and bulges that just weren't quite as big as his, Will could only picture one face on top of those sculpted bodies.

Vince

Will's only true love was the only one that could share his bed for the night. The stream of cock that entered his apartment were merely weak substitutes for the ravishing Italian's. Every night when he laid down with his anonymous companion, Will would imagine it was Vince's Chest he was caressing, Vince's hair he was pulling, Vince's arse he was slapping. And then, when that intense cloud of euphoric white had dissipated, and he would realise that the illusion has left with it. He would leave the men on their own to get dressed and exit without another moan. One quick block on the phone and Wil would never see them again.

"Good thing about New York is there's always more."

Will would return to his bed to rid the toxic odour of unqualified men and lay in it alone, where he would dream about Vince again. If Grace could see him now she'd be horrified at his obsession with the long gone lover. In Grace's mind, Will was long over Vince and his devious nights were just a result of pent up aggression and inherent fluttery. Never could she know that he was still longing for the dreamy, tanned skin Adonis that he spent so much of his life loving and cherishing.

"He's not coming back, Will. Time to move on."

A phrase that will repeats every night. So desperately he wants to find someone else, anyone else that will make him forget the pain of Vince. He craved a different dream. A dream of some Brad Pitt look alike that he would meet in his office or at a coffee shop or while jogging in Central park. Some toned, successful gay activist that would take him away from Vince's clutches and invite him in a world of long days, pleasant dreams and hot, passionate fucking night after night.

Maybe he would find him tonight.

Will began his hunt.

He had seen a few of them before. He never forgets a chests, each muscled pec and hairless nipple is imprinted into Will's brain like a 'Not Wanted' poster. Tops and bottoms flash past Will's studying eyes; judging and strategizing. Tonight he was feeling extra exotic, brownish skin and foreskin is what he needed to subside the need for the spice filled taste of Vince. Will hesitated for a moment as a spectacular masterpiece of muscle and sweat. Something felt familiar about the slight vain covering the right nipple. A slight blemish on the third taut ab and the slight fuzzing of dark curly hair that dusted the pecs. His arms intrigued Will. The faceless man's biceps bulged with veins throbbing around it. His shoulder look as if Will could break his mahogany coffee table over him and all he would do is moan a deep, gruff of pleasure. He was hard, he was rough, and he was hot.

V Line

A perfect anonymous hook-up. Will never wanted to learn the names of his lovers. Names meant familiarity and connections. Will wanted no illusion of romance with these men. None of them were good enough. If Will was going to learn a name, he would learn it the old fashioned way: in person, with smells and words and eyes, not with thumbs and tapping and "face Pic?" But something about those nameless muscles made Will curious about the memories the arms had. It's as if Will had already encountered those bulges many times before. Had his mind evaded this Adonis? He tapped on the profile to find no messages exchanged. He was definitely a new guy on the scene.

Time to strike.

Will: Sup?

The game begins with an immediate response

V Line: Not much u?

Will: Just chilling on my couch.

V Line: Nice. Looking?

Straight to the point, the game was won. Will sent away his address and waited as he the profile moved up and up the grid.

2 miles

1000 feet

400 feet

20 feet

A knock on the door. It's time to claim the prize.

Will takes off his button up to reveal his signature white and clean matching his Calvin Klein's that now hold his growing bulge within his dress pants. He swaggers to the door, flexes slightly and turns the knob.

The sight before hit him like the fallen angel. He could smell the cologne off the leather jacket, the after shave emanating from his chin. The boot cut jeans still had the slight oil stain from when he was fixing his car. The pecs and the muscles and the biceps all rushed back into the front of his mind. The hot and heavy nights, the hot and heavy fights, and the embraces and the shouting and slamming doors and moans of ecstasy. The cries, laughter, tears, scolds, bites, kisses, memories.

Vince's memories.

Vince.


End file.
